Marilynne Robinson - Home

“All the more reason you should take some pride in yourself.”

“Oh, I see. Yes, sir. I’ll bear that in mind.”

After a moment his father said, “I know I strayed from the point a little there. But I’ve wanted to mention that to you. I’ve wanted to say you should think better of yourself.”

“Thank you, sir. I’ll give it a try.”

“The colored people,” his father said, “appear to me to be creating problems and obstacles for themselves with all this — commotion. There’s no reason for all this trouble. They bring it on themselves.”

Jack looked at him. He drew a long breath, then another. He asked softly, “Have you heard of Emmett Till?”

“Emmett Till. Wasn’t he the Negro fellow that — attacked the white woman?”

Jack said, “He was a kid. He was fourteen. Somebody said he whistled at a white woman.”

His father said, “I think there must have been more to it, Jack. As I remember, he was executed. There was a trial.”

Jack said, “There was no trial. He was murdered. He was a child, and they murdered him.” He cleared his throat to recover control of his voice.

“Yes, that is upsetting. I had another memory of it.”

Jack said, “We read different newspapers.”

“That might be the difference. Still, parents have a responsibility.”

“What?”

“They bring children into a dangerous world, and they should do what they have to do to keep them safe.”

Jack cleared his throat. “But they can’t always — they might really want to. It’s very hard. It’s complicated—” He laughed.

“So you know some colored people, there in St. Louis.”

“Yes. They’ve been kind to me.”

His father regarded him. “Your mother and I brought you children up to be at ease in any company. Any respectable company. So you could have the benefit of good friends. Because people judge you by your associations. I know that sounds harsh, but it’s the truth.”

Jack smiled. “Yes, sir, believe me, I know what it is to be judged by my associations.”

“You could help yourself by finding a better class of friends.”

“I have made a considerable effort in that direction. But my associations have made it very difficult.”

“Yes.” His father was wary of this concession. The readiness of it sounded like irony. After a minute he said, “It seems to me you always think I’m speaking of that child of yours. You regret that you weren’t a father to her, I know that. And if you had it to do over again, you’d want to be there with her, I know that, too. And the Lord knows it.”

Jack covered his face with his hands and laughed. “The Lord,” he said, “is very — interesting.”

“I know you don’t mean any disrespect,” his father said.

“I really don’t know what I mean. I really don’t.”

“Well,” the old man said, “I wish I could help you with that.” Then he turned his face resolutely toward the television screen. Jack sat down beside him and watched it with him. In the gray light he looked saddened and spent and oddly young, a man whose father was still his father, and impossible, and frail. The old man patted his knee. Cowboys and gunfire. Glory fixed them a supper and they ate quietly, carefully polite. “I believe this is Thursday. Am I right?”

“Yes, sir.”

“I’d like roast beef for Sunday dinner. I want the whole house to smell like roast beef. I’ll put on a necktie. We’ll light the candles. Maybe Ames and his family will join us. We could have a sort of a good time, you know. Will you be there, Jack?”

“Sure.”

“You could play a little piano for us.”

“I could do that.”

“Let me see your hand, where you had that splinter in it.”

“It’s healing.”

“Let me see.”

Jack gave his father his right hand, and the old man took it in his hands and stroked it and studied it. “There will be a mark there.” Then, “Twenty years,” he said, “twenty years.”

Jack settled his father for the night, dried the dishes, and went to his room.

WHEN GLORY CAME DOWNSTAIRS THE NEXT MORNING, Jack was at the stove, preparing to fry bacon. He said, “I believe I may have undergone a conversion experience.” He looked at her sidelong.

“Interesting. Tell me more.”

“Nothing dramatic. I was brushing my teeth, and a realization came to me. The gist of it was that Jack Boughton might become a Congregationalist. You know, at least try it on for a few weeks.”

“That’s a little bit dramatic. I mean, if you’re actually thinking of going to church.”

“I intend to do exactly that, little sister. Unless I change my mind. This coming Sunday. If it wouldn’t be inconvenient for you, which is why I thought I’d mention it. We can’t leave the old gent here on his own, I know that—”

“So that you can go to church? I might have to tether him to the bedpost to keep him from floating out the window. Aside from that, I doubt there would be any problem.”

“Well, that’s actually a concern of mine. He might make too much of it. It’s just a thought I had. I might not even go through with it.”

“I’ll stay with him. It’ll be all right.”

“I thought maybe I could talk with Ames about a few things. If I got on better terms with him. That’s all it really amounts to. A gesture of respect.” He looked at her. “You would tell me if you thought this was a bad idea.”

“I really don’t know what could be wrong with it.”

He nodded. “Ames will be sure to mention it. So there’s no point being secretive about it. I wondered if you wouldn’t mind—”

“I’ll just bring him his coffee, and he’ll ask me why I’m not dressed for church, and I’ll say, Jack wanted to go this morning.”

“And then—” Jack said, and they laughed. “Ah,” he said, “help me think this through. Maybe you should just say Jack went to church this morning. If you say I wanted to go, he’d read a lot into that. Maybe — Jack decided to go. No, that’s almost as bad as wanted.”

“All right. Jack went to church this morning.”

“And then what?”

“Who knows. I’ll improvise. This is uncharted territory.”

“So it is.” He looked at her. “You don’t think this will seem too cynical, do you? Hypocritical? Unctuous? Calculating?”

She shrugged. “People go to church.”

“Other people do. I mean, I’ll hardly be inconspicuous. And old Ames doesn’t think the world of me.” After a moment he said, “Well, nothing to be done about that, hmm? That’s why I thought of going in the first place. I can’t think of another approach. I have tried. I will sit under his preaching, as they say, and maybe his feelings toward me will soften a little. I’ll be very attentive.” He smiled. He said, “It’s worth a try. Then he and the wife will come to dinner, I’ll play a few of the old favorites. It could work.”

“All this is fine, Jack. But I can’t quite convince myself that it’s necessary.”

He nodded. “I’ve been a torment to his dearest friend for forty-three years, give or take. He’s sick of me. He doesn’t want to be, but he is. I would be, too. But I want to talk to him.”

She said, “It’s a good idea. Very good, I think.”

“All right, then. If you say so. I’ll probably do it.”

Jack put on his tie and his hat and went off to the store to buy groceries for Sunday dinner with two ten-dollar bills from the household money Glory kept in the drawer in the sideboard. She could have called the grocer’s and ordered them, as she usually did, but Jack said he needed to get out of the house for a while. So she went down to the Ameses’. Lila was in the garden picking lettuce into a basin and Robby was fooling around on his swing, lying across the plank on his stomach, pushing and pivoting and sweeping the grass with his fingertips. Lila stood up when she saw Glory at the fence and smiled at her and called the little boy to come say hello, so he came and said hello and then ran off to look for his friend Tobias, who had been called in for lunch.